


Love of our own

by NettlesandVanilla



Series: House cleaning collection [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus isn't what we'd call a reliable narrator, And Gellert has some next level issues, First Kisses, HELP I CAN'T TAG, M/M, The summer of 1899, dumb young things in love, that don’t get addressed here or anywhere else apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NettlesandVanilla/pseuds/NettlesandVanilla
Summary: Just some musing on these two. Let's be real, this is short enough to be it's own summary.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Series: House cleaning collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020306
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Love of our own

**Author's Note:**

> This is like the first thing I've posted in years, so please: be brutal I need it. Also my first time ever posting here, so if somethings wonky please tell me how to fix that.  
>  Other than that: enjoy!

They had been both so young, and so naive in many ways. Albus mused in his older days.  
He had never thought of himself as young, but he had been. Young and ignorant in so many things. Corrupting power of words. The things that truly mattered. And the kind of love that wasn’t talked openly about in the turn of the century.  
He had always been lonely, this much he had been able to admit always. He often had thought there was something different within him; wether broken or a brain winning over the heart, his theory switched with his mood. 

All in all, he had been utterly defenceless against the butterflies that began to flutter under the intense stare of heterochromatic eyes, and multilingual mutterings. 

They had known each other little over a week, such a short time, even if all of that week had been spent together. They had yet to disagree on anything more than what was necessary for truly interesting and enjoyable discussion, and their fast minds, working in tandem had discovered so many things both of them believed to be completely new and purely their own.  
And then, in the woods, in shimmering sunlight, Albus had stopped to stare at Gellert, with his beautiful eyes, golden curls, and smart mouth curled in a pleasantly wicked grin, and found him utterly perfect.  
This was one of the things that always held true for Albus. No matter how much time passed, he could see their photo from that summer, see that face of sharp cheekbones and remember his sharper wit, and knew that falling for the fallen angel of his had been inevitable.  
Gellert had studied him back then, and neither then or after everything, could Albus work out what the other boy had seen. Whatever it was it had apparently been satisfactory, for those clever fingers had found their way under Albus’ chin, gently, almost hesitantly pulled him closer. Inch by inch, both of them assessing the situation like one of their experiments, while Albus’ heart had raced loud enough to drown out all the noise in the world.  
Finally Gellert had frozen, their foreheads against each other, staring intensely at each other. Albus had stared at him, recognizing this as their eternal game of chess, and the next move was his.  
If there is one thing you can always trust with Gruffindores it is this: they will do it. Whatever it is. Given the choice between action and omission, they don’t even see a choice presented.  
Albus leaned forward, sealing their lips.  
Later Albus was never sure if he had imaginez the almost surprised half gasp from Gellerts lips, before he was kissing him back, his hand moving from his chin to cup his cheek, while Albus’ own fingers were tangled in the blonde curls.

They were so sure then in some subconscious level, that they were the first ones to find this too, some previously undiscovered level of love and closeness. 

Naive and often cruel in their ignorance, Albus often thought them after the fact. Either not remembering, or choosing not to remember, when after a weekend of so much kissing, Gellert had lied beside him, in his bed, quietly in the dark, tracing his own lips.  
”No one’s kissed me like that before”, he had whispered, ”like they meant anything by it”.


End file.
